


Christmas Confessions

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 02:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17112437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: A change of plans...





	Christmas Confessions

[](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/merentha13/21454005/201202/201202_original.jpg)

 

Snow and sleet blew in razor sharp gusts across the street as Doyle made his way to the Capri. He wiped at the ice crystals that collected in his eyelashes and the week old scruff of his beard. The cold found its way down the back of his neck and penetrated his thin denim jeans (maybe Bodie was right about those!)

His undercover op and the following days long wrap up had finally garnered the results Cowley had wanted and he’d been ordered back to London. If the weather cleared a bit he might even make it back by midnight. Not that it mattered all that much. It was Christmas Eve, but there was no reason to hurry. No one was waiting for him. _Pitiful_ , he thought, rolling his eyes and tightening the scarf around his neck.

He usually spent Christmas with his Mum, but this year she was in Ireland with her family. She had sent him a gift and he’d been invited to join her but there was no way he was going to spend his holiday with the ‘sisters Doyle’. His aunts were nice enough, but he wasn’t up for the endless comments on all the things lacking in his life—a real job, a nice Irish girl, a few kids and on and on. No, he’d rather spend the day on his own.

Work had ruined his holiday plans. His girl had dumped him when he’d told her he might not make it back to London for the holidays. Happy Christmas. Bodie was supposed to be off somewhere with his latest bird—visiting Mummy and Daddy in Surrey he’d been informed—and didn’t that sound grand.

He trudged through the thickening snow; his hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets. His gloves had been lost days ago in a chase along the river and there hadn’t been time to collect another pair.

Walking through the town he was surprised at how normal things were considering the violent end to the assignment two days ago. But last minute shoppers hurried about, tinny sounding Christmas music escaped through open shop doors, and fairy lights did their best to lighten the darkening night.

He reached the car park in time to see a group of kids laughing and running away from the Capri, their scarves flying out behind them like tails as they hurried off. Looking around, he noted that “Happy Christmas” had been written in the snow covering the windscreens of several vehicles. Lips twitching, he remembered the words that Bodie had once left in the same fashion on the gold Capri—although there had been nothing festive about _that_ message and the OAP that lived in his block hadn’t appreciated the sentiment at all. Bloody Bodie.

Smiling now at the memory he felt a bit warmer. His mum had always told him that even when it’s cold, a dear memory can keep you warm.

He brushed the snow off the car and climbed in. His breath immediately caused the windows to cloud up so he opened one a tad. He hoped the Capri’s heater was up to the evening's chill.

Once outside the town he found himself totally alone. There was no other traffic on the road. Ice-laden tree branches hung over the pavement shimmering in the reflected light of the headlamps. A breeze stirred the bare limbs creating a gentle crackling sound that combined with the crunch of the snow beneath the car’s tyres, filling the vehicle with a lonely winter song.

After a few hour’s drive, he felt himself nodding off and decided it was time for a break. The transport café proved to be busier than he’d expected. Most of the patrons appeared to be travelling, like him, on their own. There was one family sitting at a table—the kids worried that they’d miss Father Christmas if they didn’t get home soon. The commotion of their leaving brought back another memory from a different service station. He and Bodie had walked in on a robbery. Two young thugs, high on more than life, were terrorizing the few customers in the café. The partners had barely broken a sweat taking care of the ruffians.

Bodie had earned the admiration of one James Michael Smith, age seven. The young lad was heard to say that “the tall man in black was stronger than Superman.” Unfortunately, that had been overheard by the said tall man in black. Smiling and waggling his eyebrows at Doyle, Bodie had rewarded the smart young boy with the Mars bar that had been the reason for their stop. The lad had exclaimed that “this has been better than Christmas!” Bodie had worn that smug smile all the way back to HQ.

Recalling where he was, and that it was nearing dawn, Doyle quickly had a slash, a bacon sarnie, and a beaker of very hot tea before heading back to his car.

Almost back to the city, he pictured himself tucked up at home on his settee, feet in thick woollen socks, a book in his lap, a hot cuppa in hand and a game to watch on the box. Sounded like the perfect way to spend his Christmas. But it wasn’t. Not really. One thing was missing. It wouldn’t be perfect without his partner.

He drove into a quiet London morning. Snow had fallen enough to lay a soft blanket of white in gentle mounds over the streets and added cotton hats to the tops of the street lamps. A bright red snow-capped phone box drew his attention. It looked like a Christmas card in the early morning light. He parked the car and thought about his perfect Christmas. About Bodie.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself and decided he’d give Bodie a call on the off chance that he might be home. He got out of the Capri and dug in his pocket for some change. Opening the phone box door earned him a shower of cold snow. He laughed quietly as he brushed it out of his hair. Closing the door he leaned his head against the phone wondering if he really should be doing this. Was he making himself too vulnerable, giving away his real feelings for his partner? Would Bodie suss the real reason for the call? He picked up the phone and dialled. It was time to stop pretending.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice answered on the second ring.

“Happy Christmas, mate.” Doyle spoke quietly.

“Ray? You have any idea what time it is?” Bodie’s voice held a smile.

“I do. And what are you doin’ home at this hour? Thought you’d be decking the halls of what’s her name—Betty?”

“Janet, you prat,” Bodie huffed.

“So why are you home?”

Silence.

“Bodie?”

“I checked in with Cowley last night. Told me you were on your way back.”

“And?” Doyle felt some of the cold leave him and reminded himself to keep it light. “Ah, she gave you the push, eh?” He tried to sound disappointed.

“And,” Bodie ignored the comment. “I knew you weren’t going to spend this Christmas with your mum.”

“And?” Doyle’s voice held all the brightness of the smile on his face.

“So—I got in some supplies and I thought-”

“Yeah?” Doyle felt his throat tighten and his heart rate increase.

“I thought maybe we could spend the day together, us being mates and all, but if you have other plans -”

“No!” Doyle nearly shouted into the phone. He winced and cleared his throat. He thought of the empty flat waiting for him and the lonely day ahead of him without Bodie. “I mean, no, I don’t have any plans.”

An expectant hush rolled down the phone line between them until the unusually weighty silence was interrupted by the sound of the pips. Doyle dug around for some more change.

“Where are you?” Bodie finally asked.

“Phone box a few streets from yours.”

“Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you, old son?”

“Not sure at all if you must know.” Doyle released a shaky breath. Quietly he confessed, “Was hoping, though, that you might be home – and that if you were, you might want-”

The early morning stillness suddenly held a fragile possibility. Doyle grabbed it.

“Bodie, I-”

“I know you do sunshine,” Bodie answered, but a betraying quaver in his voice said that he really didn’t.

And that had to change. “Ah, Bodie. No more hiding, mate. I do love you—think I always have. Was afraid to say.”

“Nothing to be afraid of, Ray.”

The pips went again. Doyle groaned.

“Get yourself over here, Doyle.” The words were laced with amusement.

Tension running out of him, Doyle laughed. “Running all the way, mate.”

He hung up the phone and walked back to his car, whistling _I’ll be home for Christmas_. A peaceful warmth unfurled like an angel’s wings inside his chest. Somehow the snow wasn’t as cold, the sun was brighter, and he thought maybe there really was a Father Christmas.

The End

December 2018

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cyanne and Bodie24  
> Written for "Discovered Upon a Midnight Clear" on lj


End file.
